


and then they did it ANOTHER TIME and there were lots of feelings

by slambam



Series: nice to know you [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Trans Dick Simmons, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, lots and lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slambam/pseuds/slambam
Summary: “I think it’s safe to say neither of us are good at this, Simmons. Maybe even the worst.” Grif set a hand on the side of Simmons’ neck, brushing his thumb along the line of his jaw, and Simmons started slightly as Grif’s forehead bumped his own. “That doesn’t… doesn’t make it any less true, though, right?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> meta related spoilers, maybe?? anyways enjoy & as always thanks for reading!

No amount of water, no matter how cold, erased the feeling of Grif’s hands tight around his wrist, and sound of the water drumming on the steel walls of the shower stall couldn't mask Grif’s panicked voice, still ringing in his ears.

They were safe now, Simmons knew that, both of them - safe on some transport ship, but he couldn’t shake the pit in his guts, the tightness in his chest. In a matter of seconds, the Meta had Grif by the ankle, and he disappeared over the cliff. Gone. Just like that. He’d gone over it so many times in his mind, analyzing his distance, the weight of the warthog, the strength of the cable, and even though Grif had survived the realization that there was nothing Simmons could have done to save him this time tightened around his chest like a vice.

He turned off the water, pressed his forehead to the steel wall, and closed his eyes. There was a warm bed for him if he could just make himself leave the showers. Still. Every piece of him resisted, and he knew exactly why.

 

* * *

 

“Simmons…? Jesus, Simmons, you're freezing.” Grif grumbled, sounding half asleep as he scooted back on the mattress so Simmons could climb in with him. “What were you… where were you?”

Simmons took Grif’s face in his cold hands, opening his mouth to speak, but the right words weren’t there - just that _fucking_ anxious buzz, making him swallow hard, breath quivering. _I was afraid, I’m still afraid, I need you, need this_ \- none of it felt enough. The silence bore down on them as Grif waited, concerned eyes focusing on Simmons’ face as he slowly came more awake. He opened his mouth, just slightly, as though searching for something to say, and Simmons snapped.

With a shaky exhale he kissed Grif hard on his chapped mouth, sliding a hand into his hair and making a soft noise as Grif yielded to the pressure of his tongue. He tried to keep his actions slow, keep them steady and easy, but the buzz made him shake, made him wrap his arms around Grif’s neck, made him sling a leg over Grif’s hips to get as close as he possibly could. Grif was so fucking warm - he was always so fucking warm.

“Fuck, Simmons - what - are you okay, dude?” Grif gasped, voice low and thick with sleepiness and need as he pulled back, panting quietly. He set a broad hand on Simmons’s hip, squeezing gently, and it steadied Simmons more than Grif could ever know.

Simmons nodded, taking a breath and pressing his forehead to Grif’s, casting his eyes downward. He couldn’t think too hard about it, about any of it, or the lump in his throat would keep growing until he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry, I - is… is this okay?” He spoke against Grif’s mouth, voice hoarse.

“Yeah, I mean.. yes. Yeah.”

Simmons didn’t respond, couldn’t - so he kissed Grif again, and Grif kissed him back.

Grif slid one broad palm down over his back to his ass, fingertips digging in as he pulled Simmons closer against him. Sliding one hand back into Grif’s hair, Simmons moaned quietly into Grif’s mouth, breath hitching as Grif rolled on top of him, leaning down over him, kissing his neck and sliding thick hands along his sides and nudging up his shirt. The pressure of his hands was good, but it wasn’t fast enough, not close enough - he needed more, needed to feel and think and breathe nothing but this. He reached down to get his hand between them, palming Grif through his boxers and shuddering as Grif ducked his head with a groan.

_I almost lost you._

The words ghosted through his mind, through his throat. It was what he should be saying, instead of sliding off his own boxers, burying that buzz under other sensation, sitting up and pushing Grif with him. He was halfway into Grif’s lap as he slid his hand under the elastic of Grif’s boxers - he was already so hard, precum beading at the tip of his cock. Simmons’ face burned as he slid his thumb over the tip, spreading out the little slick there was and it felt so good, so familiar and heavy in his hand. Grif bucked forward into his slow strokes, eyes closed as he pushed his forehead against Simmons’ shoulder.

“Simmons - “ He gripped Simmons’ arm with one hand, the other sliding between Simmons’ thighs, fingertips running over his clit and then inside him. Simmons made a low sound, arching, riding Grif’s fingers and it was good like the first time, the third, the fourteenth, the fiftieth -

_Do you remember when I asked if you ever wonder why we’re here?_

It hung in the back of his mind, the start to a confession he didn't know how to finish as he moved both hands to lift Grif’s shirt up and off his body. He pressing frenzied kisses into Grif’s neck, his shoulders, letting his hands wander, fingertips digging into soft flesh as he grabbed at Grif’s hips, kneaded at his chest. Grif shivered for him, the hand between Simmons’ legs stilling. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet anymore, panting and groaning into Simmons’s shoulder and Simmons knew it was for him. All for him and no one else.

“Grif,” Simmons breathed. Grif pulled back to kiss him hard, wrapping thick arms around his waist for a few moments as Simmons set both hands on Grif’s shoulders. As Grif held him, the kiss slowed and Simmons let it even as his heart pounded in his chest, mind racing.

There was a moment of stillness where Grif brought a hand up to stroke his cheek, running his thumb along the sharp line of Simmons’s cheekbone. Words caught in his throat as Grif mouthed over his jaw, mind rolling over itself at the cease in motion.

Grif nudged him, almost hesitant, and he let Grif go, sliding off his lap onto the mattress, sitting up with his knees curled under him. He watched as Grif stripped out of his boxers, as patiently as he could manage. Grif slid back onto the bed, back to the wall, legs outstretched (bad leg day, Simmons noted through his frenzy - be careful), and Simmons wasted no time in crawling into his lap and positioning himself, shivering as Grif leaned forward to press slow kisses to his sternum. As he sank down, Grif’s cock spreading him open, he wrapped an arm tight around Grif’s neck and Grif slid a hand into his hair, tilting Simmons’ head down and Simmons let him - barely to kiss him at this point, just to have him close, feel Grif’s breath on his skin as Simmons began to bounce in his lap.

He pressed his cheek to Grif’s temple, shivering as Grif groaned against his chest and rocked his hips up into Simmons. He slowed, grinding down against him, trying to memorize the feeling of Grif fully inside of him - why had he never stopped to just _feel_? Through the smell of sex he could still smell Grif’s hair - faintly like disinfectant, the all purpose, standard issue soap they’d used for years, but there was the distinct smell of warmth and sweat and Grif and he leaned into it, eyes closed.

Not communicating was bad, he knew that. Bad in any kind of relationship, that's what all the articles said, but there was too much inside him to form a coherent thought. He’d almost lost this, almost lost Grif, and it was unfathomable - unimaginable, losing this, losing _him_ , and no clumsy words, no amount of physical closeness could communicate that anxiety, that paralyzing fear of loss that the incident had shocked out of Simmons.

He’d never felt this way about anyone, and as Grif set steady hands on his waist, thrusting against him rough and uneven, breathing ragged as he gasped out a quiet warning that he was close, it all suddenly came into sharp focus.

“I love you.” The words came out in a breathless tumble, as though forced from him by some kind of impact, one arm around Grif’s neck and a hand curled in his hair, bouncing as his thighs burned with the effort. “Grif, fuck, I love you -”

“Simmons,” Grif whimpered, locking up with a groan and holding Simmons’ hips down hard. Simmons felt the familiar hot pulse inside of him and inhaled a quiet, shuddering gasp, keeping Grif deep and tight inside as he rolled his hips.

Grif’s hot breath slowed against Simmons’ chest and he moved his arms to wrap tight around Simmons’ waist, keeping him close as he came down. Simmons made no effort to move, pressing his cheek to the side of Grif’s head.

“I love you, too,” Grif murmured after a few moments, breathless - almost hesitant. Simmons stared at the wall, breath slowing, then turned his head to Grif’s curls, loose from their usual tie. His hair had gotten so long since they were shipped to Blood Gulch, and he hunched slightly forward to bury his face in them completely, closing his eyes.

“I thought you were dead,” Simmons said, finally.

“Yeah.” Grif shifted to rest his chin on Simmons’ shoulder, moving his hands to Simmons’ waist, and Simmons felt him swallow. “I… me too.”

The thoughts came tumbling forward again, and Simmons scrambled to make sense of them.

“I’m - I’m sorry it took… _that_ , I’m sorry it took me so long.” Simmons spoke haltingly, leaning back and keeping his eyes down as he lowered his hands to twist them awkwardly in his lap. “I’m not - not good at this.”

“I think it’s safe to say neither of us are good at this, Simmons. Maybe even the worst.” Grif set a hand on the side of Simmons’ neck, brushing his thumb along the line of his jaw, and Simmons started slightly as Grif’s forehead bumped his own. “That doesn’t… doesn’t make it any less true, though, right?”

Simmons tilted his head up to find Grif looking at him, thick brows drawn together in apprehension.

“You meant it?”

The question was like a punch in the gut, combined with how Grif was looking at him, like he didn’t believe this was real.

“Did I - yes! Of course I did, Grif - of course.”

Grif’s expression softened, and he pulled Simmons close again, burying his face in Simmons’ shoulder. Simmons ran his hands up into Grif’s hair, then froze as he felt Grif’s shoulders hitching and hot wetness on his shoulder.

“Grif, are you… holy shit, are you crying?”

“Shut up,” came the muffled reply. “You're crying. I’m not crying.”

Simmons gently pushed Grif back, hands on his shoulders, and examined Grif’s now tear-streaked face. With both hands, cyborg and flesh, he cupped Grif’s cheeks, brushing tears away with his thumbs before pressing a soft kiss to Grif’s mouth.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, to feel the words in his mouth again. They felt as right as they had before, and from the way Grif relaxed, hands curling around Simmons’ wrists, they sounded right to Grif.

“Love you back,” he mumbled, and Simmons couldn't help but smile. 


End file.
